Just a little something

So here is the second short story I have written and a song that I wanted to post along with it that I created in my Music Production class last year. The song took about two months to create and mix on a program called Reason, and I know it's not perfect, but it's what I could complete in time to turn in before the quarter ended. All instruments are played by me via a MIDI keyboard into the program's interface, where I had pretty much set up a studio within the computer. Mixing took forever to learn and was the most difficult part of it, but I got it done just in time. It is best to listen to the song with headphones. Hopefully I can get back to writing music soon.
With the story, it was written a couple of years ago during one of my prison stints, so it is still in rough, rough, rough draft mode, but I just wanted to transfer it from paper to computer in case I ever lose it (as I have a tendency to do with most stuff I own). The dialogue is scarce, and the detail is...well...not detailed, but I did my best and just wanted to get my idea down on paper. My first short (and longer) story and another song will be coming later once I am done editing the story, but for now please enjoy these and leave some comments if you feel compelled to do so. Thanks!

Contagicide (the story) - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1bmLRgoIiNDRlJAPSNB9feGcQjzlL8nPT/view?usp=sharing

Minor Storm (the song) - https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B7X8QhyOZvFSTTNUMGM5aFpTMFE

If it doesn't work, let me know and I will send you a private message or email to see if we can get-er-done that way.

Comments

Robin Red - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 I don’t tell my brother about my date but leave the restaurant right on time to go home and get changed. On the way to the hotel where Eric is staying, something feels off. My brother’s words have more of an impact than I could have expected and begin to weigh down on me heavily. He had never completely cleared up what he was trying to get at, but I get the idea that his thoughts went deeper than his words. Now, this feeling in my gut can either be the clams I’d eaten or just intuition talking, with both telling me to turn around and go back home. What I really want is Bill, not this Eric character, but Bill and I were incomplete. There is a crack in our foundation that threatens to crumble what we have built if I push too hard and too fast. I need to solidify our base, and for that, I suppose people like Eric come in handy. I’ll do anything to make myself feel complete. I arrive on time, nervous yet eager to get it over with. I wear the same outfit on all of my fi

Icepick

Some recent friends of mine have been posting memories from their past, so I decided to type out an old writing from my prison book. I’ve been slowly transferring all of them to electronic format, but I’m definitely not getting them out as quickly as I would like. Good friends of mine know about my memory issues, and writing helps me remember, so here’s one of the few sober memories that I’ve been able to retain. I know it’s a little long, and that this generation only has the attention span akin to gnats and only like to read shorthand, emojis, and memes, but bear with me. More to come. Icepick – Written 6/11/16 It was the summer of 2010, I believe, and a part of me wishes that I could call it a simpler time. I lived at a place called “Madhouse,” and for anonymity purposes, we’ll just keep it at that. Why is it called Madhouse? Because the place is a fucking madhouse—don’t ask stupid questions. In actuality, it is a series of houses, and I was lucky enough to l

Here, Have an Egg

Ohh the anxiety-ridden, all-knowing teenager years. This is one of the first writings of a memory I wrote years ago. Here, Have an Egg – Written 5/21/15 At the very beginning of my rebellious days as a teenager, one of the first acts of proving my solitude and the transition into manhood was learning to sneak out of the house, successfully. I was well into my first year of high school and my girlfriend at the time—let’s call her Liz—yearned to partake with me in this mischievous task so that we could both “hang out” more intimately. Not seeing any other way around it, and being the eager fifteen year old that I was, I succumbed to my pubescent urges and complied. My parents were three years divorced, and at the time, lived in the same city still so that it would make it easier for my brother and I to travel back and forth from each of their houses week by week. My brother never seemed to mind it so much, mostly because he could drive, which in turn

The Retrospective Writings

Search This Blog